


Little Red, Little Blue

by Dekka



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Drugs, M/M, Parties, Possible non-con, Superfamily, edibles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 01:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12665565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/Dekka
Summary: Peter just wanted to be normal.Normal college kids get to drink, and smoke up, and not worry about saving the world or when the next villain is going to take them, or their family, out. Peter learns the hard way that he's just never going to be normal.





	Little Red, Little Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely fiction, and will eventually have the whole superfamily :)

Time moves in pictures, poking at minutes and seconds in a rude mockery. 

Peter’s head spins under the heat, the lights, the crowd of the party, but no one notices his distress, too far gone themselves to care. 

It’s not his first college party, but it _is_ his first time high. 

The bathroom, the bedroom, the living room- it’s all a blur. The most unsettling part is the locked door of each room he finds himself in; a pretense of safety that Peter, even through the haze of drugs, can tell will do nothing to help him.

No one even had to pressure him into taking the edible. At the time it just seemed like a fun idea, something of a right of passage that all teenagers experience at some point. He just wanted to be normal and deal with normal college woes like worrying about if the cops will break up this party, or if he’ll have a hangover in the morning from the shots he did earlier, or if he’ll black out, or if he can just forget about his responsibilities for once in his life without the consequences biting him in the ass. 

Peter stumbles against the door he’s just locked in his wake. It feels large at his back, a shield as much as a dagger. 

If there was ever a time for his powers to kick in, now would be opportune, to flush the drugs from his system. The effect of the edible is less than stellar, and rapidly diving by the second. 

He spares a thought to the idea that the bolted door might work against him at some point soon, especially if he passes out behind one like his center of gravity is suggesting at is wavers.

Somehow he makes it back into the crowded rooms eventually, on a hunt for a familiar face. 

Behind door number three that night, Peter finds Ned and tries to tell him, in between hysterical laughs, that he's _scared_.

And Ned- he laughs.

He laughs because Peter's laughing. He laughs because he's just as high.

"I'm scared, I'm scared, _I'm scared_." 

Peter says it another hundred times, between sobs, between smiles, and finally, in hopelessness.

"It won't end." He's laying on the floor now, the spin of the ceiling a familiar backdrop to his thoughts. 

His eyes close for a second and when he opens them again the room doesn't look the same as it did before. From the corner of his eye he can see that Ned is still with him, a small comfort as his mind pushes to remember how he got here.

There's the image of a bedroom, again, of the ceiling spinning above him. He thinks he was pacing, or maybe laying like he is now. 

The worst part is that he did this to himself, agreed to eating half of an edible loaded with God only knows what.

When Peter finally gets his hands on his phone, remembering he owns one, it feels familiar enough that relief has him melting against the wall, curling his knees up to preciously hold the device between them.

Wade's message thread is right there. The last message tells him to 'have fun, but not too much fun' at the party. If only he knew now that this is where the night would take him.

Peter can't think past the idea of Wade, of calling out to him.

When he looks back at the phone he sees the name typed there, and sent. He can still feel the name rolling off his lips.

There's an amount of surprise when a reply comes through right away, and in words and not sound.

" _Where are you? Are you okay?_ "

No, no, _no_.

Even from the floor the room spins wildly. The only constant is the phone screen, the time at the top changing at an unnatural pace.

" _Peter, do you need help?_ "

Texting feels like slow motion, like the way the last drop of coffee rolls to the lip of the mug. It's always cold by the time it reaches his tongue.

His hands are slow, but his texts are perfect, a stark difference to the sloppy drunk texts he’s sent in the past. 

Huddled against the wall in the hallway, Peter pulls his knees closer to his chest, trying to fight away a chill.

He can see Wade's text bubble, dots blinking, telling him his boyfriend has already started a new reply.

Peter sends his message anyway. 'I'm okay, I'm not alone. I promise." Even worse than the fear that's heavy on his chest, is the idea of a loaded calvary showing up to save supposedly normal Peter Parker from a little college party. He can't let that happen.

Time slips again and when Peter comes back to himself he's staring at his own reflection, hands burning under the sink faucet.

His eyes are wild, his hair a mess; the water is scalding. 

His phone buzzes on the counter. There's four messages.

" _Should I call Tony?_  
_I can get him to track your phone._  
_You're scaring me, baby boy._  
_Don't leave the party."_

Peter snatches his hands from the water, scrambling for his phone. They sting, tinged pink from the heat. 

'Please, don't call Tony. I'm okay.'

After the flash of panic time slips again, longer than the last time. Relief never lasts long in this state, taken over by the bubbling caldron of thoughts waiting to fry him. 

Peter's in the kitchen this time, boxed into a corner by too many people to count. Above his head, he can feel the depth of the room.

"Eat this," a girl says. It takes every brain cell in his body to focus on her. There's too much happening, and the lights have started to glare and twist in broken circles.

When his eyes finally focus he's met with her soft smile, as if she's convinced that he's a frightened animal who's ready to bolt.

Clutched in her hand is a granola bar.

In the back of his mind he hears Aunt May's voice echoing about strangers and food and not accepting things like drinks from people you don't know. He figures he's already screwed up enough in that respect for it to not matter if he eats another (this time more familiar) treat. He takes the bar from her.

It's there. Right in his face. Granola and chocolate so close even when his hand is so far away from his mouth. He feels like he's looking through a microscope. Even the weight of it in his mouth is better, the chocolate lining his tongue like a warm hug.

He can hear her laughing at him, saying something about ‘the munchies’ to her friends. Correcting her would be too much work. He didn't ask for this. This isn't right. This isn't high.

This is something else. This is bad.

He just wants it to be over- maybe just after he finishes the granola bar.

Time, forever fickle, jumps again.

He's face down in someone's sheets this time, a man's voice in his ear. He doesn't know how he got here.

The panic outweighs everything. Even the dizziness backs down.

"Please, please," Peter begs. He doesn't know what he’s asking for. His body moves too slow for his thoughts, trapping him against the tangle of sheets.

He squeezes his eyes shut, begging his limbs to listen, and like magic, whoever was at his back disappears.

Peter's frantic to pull himself up from the depths of his body. He comes face to face with Flash when he finally rights himself. Of course his high school bully shows up at the first college party he decides to get high at. 

"Parker, you can't sleep face down. I swear to fuck you're trying to die." Flash is annoyed, as if he's been dealing with Peter for a while.

He's helping. Not attacking. Not- that. Not doing anything but helping.

"Parker I think you need to sleep this off, man.” He sounds so mature now, voice deeper, less hostile. There’s scruff on his jaw. Peter reaches for it; it’s softer than he expects. 

“Yeah puberty hit me like a truck,” Flash jokes, folding Peter’s arms back against his sides. After his recent scare, it’s too much to feel restrained. Peter clumsily frees his limbs, trying, but failing, to hide his fear.

There's soft words, a soothing voice, kindness, but then there's Peter's idea of Flash; they don't add up.

After that Peter only hears, “You need help. I’m calling someone."

Behind what could be the hundredth closed door of tonight, Peter waits like a naughty child, head bowed, twisting his hands, waiting for Flash to call someone so Peter can receive his punishment. He should’ve know- he doesn't get a night to be normal. 

"Give me your phone."

Peter fights, but Flash is stronger and faster.

"Tell me who to call or I'll call your Aunt."

Flash doesn't know that every option in his phone will cause a less than stellar event.

"Wade," Peter relents, once Flash threateningly hovers a finger over Aunt May’s number. “But I want to talk to him."

There's mumbling and yelling, both from Flash and the tiny voice over the line.

Eventually the phone is held to his ear.

"I'm sorry," Peter starts, before Wade can even say anything. Even he can hear the wobble in his voice, strained and cracking.

When Wade's voice finally does come through it’s soft and soothing on the other end. Peter has half a mind to wonder why he isn't yelling at him, asking himself if he really is so bad off right now that even his loved ones can’t manage to yell at him, too worried.

 _His loved ones._

_Shit. Tony, Bruce,....Steve_. 

Peter can't even begin to think about how disappointed Steve will be.

If there was ever a way to prove you’re not mature enough to handle a situation on your own, now is it. In two seconds flat Peter's convinced himself he's no longer an Avenger. 

Just the thought of his family showing up to “save” him makes his stomach flip, well aware of the crowded halls and rooms just beyond the door to this room. 

"If Tony comes here I'll never get to come back to this school," Peter warns over Wade’s promises of ‘Death by Avengers’ to whoever gave Peter a messed up edible. He can feel himself getting worked up at just the thought of Tony crashing in here, on a mission to win Dad of the year.

Wade quiets him with soft hums, a promise that it was all a joke as he changes the subject, asking Peter to tell him about his chemistry lab that he had yesterday.

Peter doesn't understand why- he already told Wade all about it when he saw him this morning- but he's not one to abandon the opportunity to talk science.

Eventually though, they have to hang up.

“I’ll be there soon, baby boy.” Wade promises. His voice, for the first time since he picked up the phone, is stiff- cold, even. It leaves Peter reeling, trying to follow stagnant thoughts of hidden meanings when he can’t even remember how to move his finger the right way to hang up the phone. 

Peter tries to hang on to reality, he really does, but his head has other ideas.

Time slips forward in small bursts, unable to stay online without the constant stimulant of conversation or distraction.. Ten minutes disappear, then five, then ten again.

It feels like it'll never stop.

The room gets smaller and smaller until it's just Flash and him, sitting next to each other on some stranger's bed.

"It's gonna be fine," Flash promises. His voice is so close. His arm is around Peter. The bed is a life raft.

Peter tries to explain what's happening, how time is just _gone _.__

__“It’s just the drugs, I promise everything is happening in normal speed.”_ _

__Flash doesn't know about alien tech and multiple universes and the things that make even Peter’s head spin, so he can’t possibly know if time is as constant as it was before tonight. Still, Peter finds himself relaxing into the words._ _

__For a while quiet invades the room, till flash gives him back his phone, telling him to watch the little clock app's minute hand go around and around._ _

__It actually helps, watching every minute and second being accounted for._ _

__Peter goes three minutes, memory completely intact when the door in the room opens, suddenly making the room ten times its size._ _

__Light floods in, air floods in; Wade floods in._ _

__Peter cries, relief flooding him and changing the color of the room._ _

__He cries, and he cries, and he cries, face buried in the neck of the man who loves him._ _

__Wade's returning grip is like iron, holding Peter down to reality._ _

__"Don't scare me like that,” he says._ _

__Peter can only nod, too relieved to do much else as he hides his face against Wade’s chest. Nothing can hurt him here._ _

__“Dont be mad.” Wade says, then. His chest burns Peter’s cheek, so he slowly detaches himself._ _

__Wade’s face is hidden in by a ball cap and hoodie, but his eyes are bright and alive. There’s worry there that Peter doesn't want to think about, but underneath the worry is fear._ _

__“Wade,” Peter starts. He can feel the smile slipping off his face as Wade’s eyes betray whatever secret he’s keeping._ _

__Peter’s stomach flips over twice, righting itself only to be upturned again by Wade’s words:_ _

__“I had to tell Tony.”_ _

__Peter pukes right between them, onto their shoes. It’s a statement, if nothing else._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed the writer! 
> 
>  
> 
> If I left anything out that needs to be tagged let me know :)


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